Marguerite's Gift
by Lex
Summary: A Marguerite / Roxton Christmas story


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Marguerite's Gift by Lex

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For my angel, Danielle - with appreciation 

Sequence: takes place after Doorways 2

These characters belong to Telescene. I am just playing with them for a bit. Please don't sue me.

Everyone had been working hard - even Marguerite - all day, performing maintenance tasks around the treehouse, and now, at last, it was time to relax. Marguerite looked down at herself disgustedly; her clothes were disheveled and dirty, she herself was sweaty and exhausted. She attempted to comb her fingers through her dark hair but the tangles were too thick and she gave up. Exhaling loudly, she announced in exasperation, to no one in particular, 

"I was NOT cut out for this."

The others, accustomed to her complaints, laughed at her disgruntled expression, but Roxton thought to himself that, in the beginning, she'd never have joined in the work in the first place.

"Well, I'm going for a swim," she continued.

"You can't go alone; it's already twilight. I'll come with you," volunteered Roxton, smiling meaningfully at her.

Marguerite laughed sarcastically. 

"I don't think so." She frowned at Roxton reprovingly. Roxton was annoyed. For Christ's sake, they'd slept together, hadn't they? So he went for a bath with her? What was the big deal? He was getting tired of this façade.

"Oh, come on, Marguerite …"

"In your dreams, Roxton!" she interrupted him sharply, and stomped off. 

"I'll go, I could use a swim myself." Veronica followed her.

Roxton threw down the hammer he'd been using. He was becoming more and more dissatisfied with Marguerite's refusal to acknowledge their relationship in front of the others. Marguerite fascinated him, drove him crazy with wanting to kiss her, touch her, tell her he loved her. Being not the slightest bit deceptive by nature, Roxton objected strongly to keeping these feelings under wraps. He had been an open and affectionate person, before the accident with his brother, and here in the Lost World, that side of him had resurfaced. He adored his beautiful Marguerite, maddening as she could be. He was so proud and happy that she loved him in return, that she wanted him the way he did her. To Roxton, it was unnatural and cheapening to carry on their relationship behind closed doors, to conceal his pride and joy in her, to steal a hasty kiss if they were alone for a moment, with Marguerite glancing around uneasily. Not only did it degrade the quality of his feelings for her, it hurt him. Was Marguerite ashamed of him? He knew that the subject made her angry, but he was unable to let it rest. She adamantly refused to give an inch and, so far, he had yielded. But he longed to be free to put his arm around her, to play with her hair, to take her hand - whether they were alone or not.

Marguerite could see how upset the subterfuge was making Roxton, but she was helpless to explain to him why she was so insistent. How could she admit to his face that she considered her feelings for him a weakness? She had always prided herself on her independence, her self-sufficiency, her toughness; she could not possibly let the others see that she had changed, that she had allowed someone into her heart. It wasn't Roxton of whom she was ashamed, it was herself.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

After dinner that night, while everyone was still seated around the table, Malone said,

"You know, it's only four days until Christmas."

"Really?" said Challenger in disbelief. "I can't believe it's so close. One tends to lose track of time here."

"Well, I've been keeping careful track of the date and it's just about here. I was thinking that we should, I don't know, have a party or something."

"What a splendid idea," said Summerlee genially.

Veronica sighed happily. "I haven't celebrated Christmas since I was a little girl. I remember so well the last Christmas I spent with my parents. My father and I worked so hard together on a big drawing of all different kinds of flowers for my mother. She was so surprised and pleased," she said nostalgically.

"Oh, how very touching," commented Marguerite facetiously. Veronica swallowed hard and looked down at the table.

"Marguerite … " Roxton growled.

"Oh, come now, Marguerite," Challenger interjected jovially. "Try to have a little Christmas spirit. Now, I remember when I was a boy … oh, the big parties we used to host every year. Everybody in the family would visit, and the food … oh, the food …"

Malone broke in, "We used to go caroling in the streets, and Dad used to take my brother and me sledding … "

Roxton added, laughing, "I remember all of us riding out to cut down the Christmas tree. It was always the best day of the year."

"Well, I have never liked Christmas! Everybody pretending to be so happy, when it's all just an act. And I'm about to suffocate with all this syrupy sweetness in here. Count me out of your plans," said Marguerite firmly, and, picking up her book, retired to her room to read.

"Scrooge," mumbled Malone under his breath.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

About an hour later, Roxton appeared at the doorway to Marguerite's room.

"May I come in?"

"If you must, " she replied sharply, not lifting her eyes from her book.

Roxton laughed good-naturedly and shook his head. "Now, how can I resist such a gracious invitation?"

Marguerite smiled at him reluctantly. "Please enter my humble dwelling, Your Lordship," she intoned, curtsying elaborately.

Roxton, grinning, took her in his strong arms and rested his head on her shoulder. "Mmmmm," he said lazily, lips against her neck, "My favorite humble dwelling in the whole world. If it were up to me, I'd never leave it."

Marguerite kissed his hair. "Never?" she questioned, a bit doubtfully.

"No, you'll never be rid of me," he answered in a light tone, but meaning every word, and kissed her mouth. He pulled her closer as the kiss deepened, and began to slowly caress her back. Waves of desire rolled through him, but she stirred nervously.

"Roxton …" she said warningly.

"Hmm?"

"Stop it. I mean it; everybody's just outside … they'll wonder …"

Frustrated, Roxton jerked away and exclaimed, "So what? So what if they know I'm in here kissing you? "

"SHHH!!"

"So what if they know you're kissing me back? Is something wrong with me that makes you ashamed or … oh, forget it," he made a visible effort to contain himself. "This is not why I came in here, Marguerite."

"Well, why, then?"

"I want … we ALL want … you to be a part of our Christmas party. We've each drawn a name of someone to whom we'll give a little gift and we've included you."

"Oh. Roxton, I don't think so. I told you to count me out." She averted her face from his, but, still feeling the intensity of his gaze, she turned away and crossed her arms defensively over her chest.

"But why, Marguerite?" He took her by the shoulders, slid his hands lovingly up and down her upper arms. "You're part of this group."

She faced him and gave a bitter laugh. "Like it or not, right?"

Roxton let go of her and looked away, the muscles in his jaw twitching. Marguerite saw the anger in his face and silently berated herself for her unkind words. " I didn't mean that, " she whispered. "John …" she lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it. She felt compelled to continue, and laughed unconvincingly. "I'm just not a Christmas person. I have never been much for holiday celebrations, which is just fine with me … " her voice trailed off. It was difficult, probably impossible, for her to admit how very lonely her life had always been, how it had cut like a knife to hear the others chattering about their happy memories. She had never received a Christmas gift, other than small tokens from the nuns at the convent. She had spent every Christmas alone, originally, as a small child, with just the household staff to care for her. Later, she had been the sole boarder to remain at the convent school over the holidays, while all the other girls, loaded down with gaily-wrapped presents, joyfully set off for their visits home. When she was very young, Marguerite had cried as she sat at the window in the drab convent parlor, watching the other students happily greet and then depart with their beaming parents. She winced at the memory. Now she almost never cried, she reminded herself proudly.

Marguerite, however, was no longer as good at masking her feelings as she believed. Especially with Roxton, who loved her. Comprehension dawned as he watched her face fall, and her eyes cloud over, leaving her as she must have looked when she was that abandoned little girl of years ago. The utter sadness and vulnerability behind those studiedly nonchalant words hit him like a blow; the hurt and confusion were so evident in her gray eyes that it seemed they had only been newly inflicted. 

Roxton felt pity wash over him. He drew her to him. "Marguerite,"he said, his voice ragged and suspiciously shaky. His hands caressed her luxuriant hair and covered her upturned face with kisses, desperate to wipe away her unhappiness. He blinked back the tears forming in his eyes and said passionately, "If you let me, Marguerite, I'll do my best to make every day Christmas, every day a holiday for you. I'll make up for every one you've ever spent alone, starting right now."

She looked up into his velvety brown eyes and was convinced by the love she saw shining there. An unfamiliar warm glow was spreading through her body. He had done this for her, she thought wonderingly.

"I drew a name for you, since you weren't there," Roxton continued. 

Marguerite couldn't say no to him now. "OK, OK," she said, trying maintain her bravado.   
"So who gets a gift from me? Whose name did you draw for me?"

"Uh … my own," admitted Roxton gruffly, having the grace to look sheepishly at his feet. Marguerite burst out laughing at his guilty expression. "I didn't cheat!" he protested, but they both chuckled; he was not a convincing liar.

Finally Marguerite said, "You'd better go, John."

"Can't I stay?"

"No, Roxton, I don't want anyone to … "

"Oh, Christ, Marguerite. I've had about enough of this. You can be a real pain in the ass," but he turned and left as she had requested.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Over the next few days, Marguerite fretted about the gift she was to give to Roxton. She had no idea what to do. She simply had no experience in that department and didn't know where to start. Many times she had come close to telling Roxton she had changed her mind and would not participate after all, but she never did. She was much too proud to ask anyone for suggestions or assistance; it was embarrassing enough to admit that she needed help but, more than that, she just could not bring herself to give any indication that this gift mattered to her because Roxton himself did. She attempted at times to think this through, to convince herself that these people were truly her friends, and that no one would consider her concern a defeat. These attempts were immediately overwhelmed by alternate waves of cynicism and panic at the thought of 'weakening,' and the idea was discarded.

But Marguerite couldn't deny that there was a celebratory feeling in the air, and for the first time in her life, she felt a part of it. She laughed along with everyone else to see Challenger's childish impatience and his escapades aimed at discovering the nature of his gift, and at the scoldings that Summerlee, who had drawn Challenger's name, gave in response. Malone, who was in the process of designing and implementing a classification/filing system for Summerlee's data on plant specimens (Summerlee's paperwork was a complete muddle and he was forever complaining about it), went about his plan with such enthusiasm, so many mysterious winks, 'secret' gestures, and exaggerated veiled references to the project, that everyone knew his secret well before the day arrived. Marguerite was surprised to find herself being just as careful as the others not to let Malone know that his secret was a secret no longer. She also found her curiosity piqued, despite her vaunted disinterest, by what in the world could have caused Veronica, clutching a small bundle, to scurry away at Marguerite's approach. Was it possible that Veronica was pleasantly anticipating giving her a gift? Marguerite was inexplicably pleased at the idea.

The more she thought about it, the more Marguerite realized that she felt more at ease with this small group of people than she had ever felt before. And then, one late afternoon, as she stood on the terrace and watched Roxton carefully gather a selection of wildflowers ('a terrible clash of colors, the man had no sense of décor,' Marguerite fondly observed) which she knew would later appear on her pillow, she had an idea.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It was Christmas Eve. The table had been prettily decorated with flowers. The dinner, with which Summerlee had taken special care, was eaten, the champagne - one of their few remaining bottles - had been poured, and the toasts made. It was time for the exchange of gifts. One after another, each member of the company of friends stood and offered the present they had prepared in secret, while the recipient, also standing, exclaimed in surprise and pleasure. Everyone was nicely tipsy and the mood was festive.

Marguerite had been touched - well, actually left speechless, for once - by the little hand-carved wooden jewelry box presented to her by Veronica, accompanied by a warm hug. She had stood stiffly for a moment and then awkwardly returned the blonde's embrace. Afterwards, Marguerite had not known where to look.

Her nervousness and apprehension grew as her turn to present her gift to Roxton neared. But she was not a quitter, could never be described as a coward. So, when everyone else had taken his or her turn, she rose determinedly from her seat. Roxton, standing at the other end of the table, waited for her with a look of confusion on his face, which was mirrored on the faces of the others. For Marguerite's hands were empty. Indeed, they were clenched tightly at her sides, so tightly that her fingernails gouged her palms. She needed that little painful goad to drive her onward, to keep herself from faltering or turning back. She could not remember ever being so afraid.

She approached Roxton and stood in front of him, her back to the others at the table. She took a deep breath, shut her eyes, and steeled herself. Roxton was still. Marguerite gulped, and started to speak, but her voice failed, so she tried again, louder this time. "Merry Christmas, John," and, before she lost her nerve, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him fully on the mouth. She tried to forget the four pairs of eyes glued to them, and kissed him as she did when they were alone, tangling her hands in his soft hair, pressing herself against him, and running her tongue along his teeth. He remained motionless for an instant - probably in shock, she thought - and then his arms were around her, holding her tightly as he ardently returned the kiss. Nobody said a word, but looked on in amazement.

Finally they broke apart. Marguerite, immediately panicking, kept her back toward the others and hid her face against Roxton's broad chest. But she felt Roxton's arm securely around her shoulders and the other hand stroking her long hair, and she knew that her gift was not yet complete. So she turned around, still in the circle of his steady arm, and slipped her own arm around his waist, and bravely raised her head to face the group, the defiance on her face daring anyone to mock her. Oddly enough, no one did. She saw nothing but smiling, friendly faces. Uncertainly, Marguerite glanced up at Roxton. He was absolutely glowing with joy, surprise, and pride. The exultant grin on his face gave him the appearance of an excited boy. He was bursting with pleasure, with a wild happiness, and with love for her. It was all there in his jubilant face for everyone to read, and he began to laugh with uncontained joy, pulling Marguerite closer to him, and tousling her hair. Marguerite felt the tension in her chest dissolve as if by magic. She knew she had done the right thing. She gazed at the faces of her friends, her own beautiful face made even lovelier by the genuine smile that graced it, and wished them all a Merry Christmas.

END

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May the peace and blessings of Our Lord comfort all who are lost this holiday season.

Happy Holidays - Lex


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